


grilled

by taiyakeo



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, agrhrg i read junichirou tanizaki's stuff and couldn't stop thinking about it, ahdsjkdhk ... anyway, and fulfillment in other people, artist and muse au, because i like taiyaki..., but i will warn you anyway, but like he's supposed to govern a village, but this is essentially yusuke's search for wholeness, hence why i Attacked globalisation, historical fiction - Freeform, i can't think of a better word than ruler, i guess, i'm going to try ONE MORE TIME, it's like half a sentence, none of the characters are involved in prostitution, oh and it's like, oh oh and i didnt have space in the summary, please talk him he's lonely, the way ao3 messed up my tags i cannot, tw: brief mention of prostitution, wait why did i say i guess? it IS one, written for shermaine's birthday... happy birthday shermaine hehe, yusuke ruler au... akira shop boy au...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24125482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taiyakeo/pseuds/taiyakeo
Summary: Humans are not made to be alone. And without his parents, or really a friend, what was he? Just bits and pieces of what a person was meant to be, he supposed.He caught snatches of whole people sometimes, in the village. A little girl in a simple dress of cotton, skipping through the dusty paths, swinging her mother’s hand in hers. A busy tailor, needle in hand as he swung his thread through cloth, mumbling wisdom into the fabric for the bird on his shoulder to hear. A young schoolboy with hair of ebony, chattering, hands in his pockets, with his classmate—smiles on both their faces.He wasn’t jealous of them, just curious. How could he be whole? Madarame was family, by blood, but he felt more like a god to be revered than someone to take refuge in. Someone to bow down to, not someone to love. Madarame could give pieces of him back, but not all that remained to be mended. So he drifted, like a piece of wood rotting slowly away in the midst of an ocean filled with beautiful corals, among the villagers to continue building his own knowledge of home. Like a warm, comfortable patchwork quilt of cotton not his own, woven with the threads of somebody else's memory.
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	grilled

That morning, Yusuke was at home again. Well--It was a bit of a stretch to call it a home, because really it was more of a house, but it would have been incorrect to say that Yusuke was _at house,_ because that just wasn't what people said. Likely because most people actually had homes. Family. Real homes. 

Yusuke didn't. He only had Madarame. That wasn't to say that Madarame wasn't warm towards him. He fed him, and clothed him, and he was even lucky enough to live in such a nice house as he did. Madarame was his distant uncle, the only relative he had left after his parents had been killed in a horse-cart accident. Trampled to death, as he was told. Madarame was his saviour. After his parents' deaths he'd been like a paper bag on the wind, swept here and there, completely lost and adrift until he'd been caught on a fence. Madarame. 

Conveniently, he'd been there when people were at their wit's ends as to what to do with him. 

He was a burden, everybody said. A little child, left to govern over his village, and only interested in art, of all things! It was all fine and well for a noble to learn it, but for him to enjoy it--well, that was a whole different matter altogether!

So when Madarame came and said that he would govern instead, it was a huge relief not only for the people of the village but also for Yusuke. So long as he could paint, he would be happy. 

Happy, but not _whole._ Humans are not made to be alone. And without his parents, or really a friend, what was he? Just bits and pieces of what a person was meant to be, he supposed. 

He caught snatches of whole people sometimes, in the village. A little girl in a simple dress of cotton, skipping through the dusty paths, swinging her mother’s hand in hers. A busy tailor, needle in hand as he swung his thread through cloth, mumbling wisdom into the fabric for the bird on his shoulder to hear. A young schoolboy with hair of ebony, chattering, hands in his pockets, with his classmate—smiles on both their faces. 

He wasn’t jealous of them, just curious. How could he be whole? Madarame was family, by blood, but he felt more like a god to be revered than someone to take refuge in. Someone to bow down to, not someone to love. Madarame could give pieces of him back, but not all that remained to be mended. So he drifted, like a piece of wood rotting slowly away in the midst of an ocean filled with beautiful corals, among the villagers to continue building his own knowledge of home. Like a warm, comfortable patchwork quilt of cotton not his own, woven with the threads of somebody else's memory. 

Now he lay swaddled in his blankets, staring at the high ceiling. The air was warm, but he, a fool caked in his own sweat, was far too lazy to climb out of his bed and walk the fifty miles (or so it seemed) to his window. The sun was out already, painting half of the _tatami_ champagne gold. A light breeze was passing, and the branches of the trees were dancing, glowing. He got the vague feeling that they were mocking him. At least they had the birds with them--the soil, the other trees. And he, a member of arguably the most advanced species on earth, was all alone. 

So he forced himself to go to the village. It was relatively cooler by the time he had gone out, there having been a little shower of rain just beforehand, and then it was lunchtime. Madarame didn't concern himself much with what he ate, so Yusuke usually just gave some lacklustre answer if he ever asked, and he never enquired further. He hadn't eaten in maybe two days, so dully he thought that he should get a snack. Something small. 

He wandered through the village, winding through alleys, eyes searching. There was the smell of tea, and it tempted him, but it wasn't a meal. Many other stores sold tea, anyway. There were small spice-cakes, which didn't interest him much, as well as fish, but he felt guilty when he saw their glassy eyes ogling him. He continued on with a little shudder, following a pleasant scent until he got to a small cafe. 

There was the sweet smell of coffee and cream. Something cooking. Something warm, something vaguely familiar. He cocked his head slightly, trying to place what it was. There was a griddle before him, and he liked the sizzling sound. 

"Can I get you something?"

The shop boy flipped the taiyaki griddle, and Yusuke heard the batter inside it slosh around and hiss as it hardened. 

"Green tea and one red bean taiyaki, please," Yusuke said, ordering whatever he saw first on the menu and settling down onto a seat at the counter. 

It wasn't long before he was sipping at a cup of green tea. Comfortable warmth pooled in his belly, leaving him with a strange sense of peace.

The boy had given him a strange look when he ordered--judgement, he assumed. He'd been expecting it: for one, coffee had become something of a staple here, a symbol that one was cultured and in tune with the times as Japan began to shift and adopt the customs and therefore food and drink of the western man; and for another, coffee had become more expensive than tea, to allow shop owners to earn more money. Supply and demand, they claimed. Yet, Yusuke felt no need to drop his way of life. He thought that those who gave in to those foreign customs were stupid. They could wear western clothes, drink western tea and alcohol, go to western cafés and sleep with whores from Paris and America and England, but their skin would still remain irreversibly, impossibly yellow. They could try and try to shed every part of their Japanese identity, but they could never shake off the language they spoke--could never adopt the harsh, abusive English speech of a native Westerner. They could only imitate. 

His eyes followed the shop's only employee as he worked at the grill, ladling batter into the pans with an air of complete indifference that Yusuke had never seen before. He was used to people being scared of him, no matter how relaxed he tried to be. 

"What filling did you want?" the boy asked. His voice had a sort of coolness, like he didn't really care if Yusuke responded or not. 

"Red bean paste, please," Yusuke responded. "My apologies. Did I fail to--"

There was a rustling noise as the taiyaki was picked up and rather roughly deposited into a paper bag. "No, I just forgot." 

The shopboy slid the paper bag over to Yusuke, who swore he caught a glimpse of something--cheekiness, perhaps--in his eyes. Interesting, he thought. 

"I failed to catch your name," Yusuke started, trying to at least be a little polite before the request he was about to make. 

The boy looked up, eyes glinting. "I didn't throw it."

"Well, could you… throw it, then?"

"Kurusu," came the reply with half a snort, or perhaps a sneeze. 

Yusuke repeated the word, rolling the syllables round in his mouth like he was trying to taste it. Like making swatches of a new paint before he tried it. "Ku--ru--su. May I be so bold as to ask for your first name?" 

"Are you going to commit identity theft?" Kurusu leaned against the counter, propping his arms up against it. "That's a crime, you know." 

Yusuke's mind scrambled for something witty. He gestured to the piece of paper nailed into the counter. "Your prices are a crime."

"Fair enough. But then you have to blame the old man, not me." He cocked his head sharply towards the shop owner, who shook his head. 

"Get to work, Akira," he growled. 

"Oh no, now you have my name. Please don't steal my identity. It's all I have," Akira deadpanned. "Look what you've done, Sojiro." 

Sojiro made a noise like horses do when they're denied food and stepped into the back room. 

"You have no reason to worry. I will not commit identity theft," Yusuke said, then tacked on "Upon my honour." when he saw Akira raising his eyebrow. 

"Sounds like something someone who would commit identity theft would say." 

"A-h…" He clicked his tongue, unsure of how to continue. 

The boy ducked his head, shaking his messy black hair out of his eyes with little success but acting like he hadn't failed anyway. There was a silence, and Akira sighed. "I was just kidding you, y'know? I know you're not going to commit identity theft. Look at you, Yusuke _Kitagawa_ \--" 

He flinched. 

"Oh, come on, everybody knows you. They'd just think you're a loony if you walked out pretending to be Kurusu Akira." He made a dismissive gesture with the one free hand that wasn't flipping the taiyaki griddles. "With that hair, nobody will think you're me." 

"I… see…" Yusuke had little else to say, nibbling at his taiyaki. He kept watching the boy until he realised he'd had a question to ask. "Will you let me draw you?" 

Akira paused, shoving the griddle back into place. He took a bite out of a taiyaki he'd just made, tearing the head away from the dough body like a savage. Sojiro had already been in the back room for a while and would likely be back soon, Yusuke noted with a nervous glance to his right. 

"I'm an artist," he explained quickly. "I think you'd be an interesting subject." 

"So you just think I'm pretty?" Akira laughed softly as Yusuke choked on his tea.

"I mean, you--Ah, you make me seem like such a morally bankrupt person." 

"I'm just kidding you, geez," Akira said, laughing, and Yusuke admitted he might have thought he was a little pretty. But just a little. 

Akira leaned onto the counter again, propping his head up on his arms, to study Yusuke closer up. His eyes were curious, searching, and somehow it was worse than if he'd glared intensely. He tried not to give in to the urge to back up, because that would have been cowardly or betrayed signs of ulterior motives that he didn't have. Akira made a little humming noise out of the side of his mouth--"H-m"--, pitch dipping at the end. 

Yusuke was going to start sweating if something didn't happen quick. 

"Do--" His voice nearly cracked and he paused, clearing his throat. "Do you accept my proposal? I'm sure it will be an, er, enriching experience for you. I--"

"Deal," Akira said, far quicker than Yusuke thought he would. "But one condition, yeah?" He watched Yusuke's expression turn anxious like curdling milk. "Uhh… I'll think of one. I just wanted to say something cool." He grinned.

"Ah, yes…" Yusuke reached out awkwardly to meet Akira's hand, outstretched for a handshake. 

"Please take care of me." 

"L-Likewise." 

*

Yusuke spent the rest of the day after that mulling over his proposal. It would not be easy to paint Akira. Not as he should have been painted, anyway; it was easy enough to get ahold of black paint, and easier still to simply lay over black wherever his hair and eyes were, but to truly capture the essence… The sparkle in his eyes would not be captured enough if he simply replicated the light, and there was none of the cheekiness in his smile in any of the drawings he found himself sketching.

It was difficult, but he would do it, somehow. If he was able to encapsulate the emotions conveyed by Akira, he would have accomplished something incredible as an artist. 

He ran out of paint that evening, having been absentmindedly painting his eyes over and over.

*

He returned to the shop the next day to find Akira sitting on a stool.

"I have the day off," he said, motioning for Yusuke to follow him out as he stood up. "Is there anywhere you want to go in particular?"

"Ah… If we were to walk around leisurely, I am sure we will find a space comfortable enough for me to paint." He motioned to the canvas under his arm that he refused to admit he was struggling to carry. 

Akira raised his eyebrows. "Better hope we find one soon."

"Will you bring me around? I am a little unfamiliar with this area of the village." That was a lie, of course, but it didn't hurt to fib a little for the sake of art. He wanted to see through Akira's eyes--to experience the village not as a wandering ruler, but as somebody familiar with it. There would be things he had not seen before.

Akira paused and nodded, turning around and beginning to walk with a speed that made Yusuke worry for his legs. The streets passed quickly, and he barely had a chance to catch his breath. He regretted wearing long sleeves already.

They crossed streets and ducked through alleys Yusuke hadn't even known existed, through shops and past houses unfamiliar to him.

"Here," Akira said, suddenly, stopping.

Yusuke struggled not to trip and looked in the direction Akira was pointing.

"A garden?" 

"My favourite place to go."

Akira led him into a small grove, motioning for him to set down his canvas. He set it up, awkwardly, since the ground was uneven, and watched Akira sit down in the grass. 

"Do what you like," Yusuke said, reaching for his pencils. "Anything is alright."

Akira paused a moment, eyes flicking upwards. "Anything? No need to pose specifically?"

"No. Just…" He couldn't find the word. "Exist."

"Exist," Akira repeated, then laughed. 

There. That was it. 

Yusuke began to sketch, finding the shade pleasing to him. Not too much sun, and not too little. A breeze had begun to wash over the gardens, rustling the trees and ruffling Akira's hair. His face, when neutral, really was quite handsome, and Yusuke thought briefly how good it was that he had found himself a model like this. 

Still he found himself unable to get it right--the neutral, yet unserious quirk of his mouth, or the little kinks in his hair, or the little shadows cast over his face.

Had he hit a block? How unfortunate.

"Today is good," he said, unoloquently, as he lifted his pencil from the page. It would be nice to get to know Akira, if he couldn't draw, just to get a good impression of his personality. Perhaps it would be easier to convey it on paper, then. 

"It is." Akira nodded. He looked a bit bored, Yusuke noticed with a small twinge of anxiety. "There's usually a breeze like this." 

Yusuke pulled a cloth over the canvas, just to hide the monstrosity he'd sketched. It was human in form, but not in feeling. Another failure. 

"Usually… How often do you come here?" 

"Just when I'm free. Sojiro doesn't let me come out a lot. It's like I'm his slave, or something." 

He snickered. 

Yusuke leaned back into the grass, and thought how surprisingly soft the soil was. It wasn't very soft, but he'd expected it to be hard and rough, somehow. Akira scooted a little bit closer, and before long they were talking about anything and everything under the sun. Something about Akira's childhood, about how his parents had sent him away (which was incredibly unfair, he insisted), and how he felt about the shop (it was nice, but he had to work very hard) and how he wished he had more time to himself. 

Somehow, they began to talk of the cat Akira kept in the back of the taiyaki shop. Yusuke hadn't seen him the other day, which Akira explained was because he was asleep in his room. 

"It's late," Akira said after a while. "I think Sojiro will get angry. I should go back." He rolled his eyes and made a face, and Yusuke smiled. "Come by again when you need me." 

He got up and left as Yusuke collected his things, slinging his bag over his shoulder. 

He'd been listening, he realised, grinning. Yusuke had always been the one talking, the one pouring out information falling on deaf ears anyway. 

It was nice to hear somebody else talk for a change.

*

They alternated between the garden and the back of the shop for Akira's next few days off. Yusuke slowly grew able to grasp what he was trying to draw, and sometimes he'd draw a pair of eyes that were startlingly like Akira's, but just far enough from the intended emotion that he'd be slightly frustrated.

They talked more than Yusuke drew, which he thought might have been frustrating if it wasn't so good. He liked listening to Akira talk (and whine, because he did complain oddly often for a boy who looked so neutral) and liked that Akira listened, too. He liked being around Akira, because it wasn't as stuffy as his house. He liked it, because he felt a little more like a real person, having fun. 

It was the feeling he'd been chasing for so long. He knew it. This was wholeness. 

*

Akira muttered a swear word, pulling his hand away from his cat, rocking back to hit the wall.

"Morgana," he chastised. "No biting, you little fool."

Yusuke raised his eyebrows. 

"What? Don't tell me you don't swear either." 

He smiled nervously. "I'm not permitted to." 

Akira's mouth fell open. " _Permitted._ Geez, just say it. _Shit._ Just do it." 

Yusuke looked over his back, staring at the door. He knew it was locked, and Sojiro didn't seem like the sort of person who would have told on him, but…

"S--"

Akira leaned forward, tugging at his arm.

"Shit," he said, softly. 

Silence.

"My, uh, my arm. Akira."

Akira jerked back, eyes wide.

"Ah. Yes." 

They pretended it didn't happen, but Yusuke remembered it often. Akira's hands were rough, likely from work, but the touch itself was so gentle, so--

He always had to stop himself there. 

*

He began to fear Akira a little. He made him feel odd and slightly ill, and sometimes he thought he may have had the flu because of how warm his face would get. 

He had to go see him that day, so he did so, if a little reluctantly. He doodled Akira a lot (which he was slightly ashamed of, weirdly) and had become better at drawing him, but he felt guilty for it. 

He walked into the shop to find that Akira was sitting in a booth and talking to another boy he'd seen quite a few times around the village, a blonde boy who spoke with a rough, almost abrasive manner that would have made Madarame cringe. He was about to leave when Akira spotted him and waved him over. 

"This is Ryuji," Akira said, mouth opening but not quite quick enough for--

"Chicken wing on a crutch, you're fucking Yusuke Kitagawa." 

He blinked, holding back the urge to cover his ears.

"Yes, that is indeed me," he said, uneasily. 

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool." Ryuji's eyes were wide open, drifting towards Akira. "Hey, I didn't know you knew him."

"I model for him." 

Yusuke tried not to cringe.

"I'm an artist," he explained.

"Everybody knows that."

"Oh." 

It was awkward, almost, until Akira nudged him with his shoe. "You haven't eaten, have you? I'll give you something to eat." 

He thanked him, taking the taiyaki with both hands and smiling as Akira revived the conversation with some talk of a few other people in the village (some girl he thought he might have recognised the description of, a nice girl with blonde hair a little lighter than Ryuji's, a girl with dark hair whom he thought of as nicely serious, and a few boys he didn't know), with Ryuji interjecting inappropriately with loud exclamations and cusses that earned him a kick or two under the table. 

He got used to it easily enough, and was surprised when they didn't turn him away from the conversation.

It was nice. He was comfortable. 

He wasn't just watching whole people from the outside anymore.

*

"Thank you," Yusuke said during one of their sessions.

"What for?" Akira shifted forward. 

"I'm happy spending time with you. I'm glad that we're…" He paused. "Friends? Friends. We _are_ friends, right?"

Akira was silent for a moment. "Yes. Friends."

It was awkward, and he didn't understand why. 

*

The next time they met, Yusuke had finished a painting. He'd managed to squeeze in just enough emotion, but it wasn't exquisite. He felt badly about showing it to Akira, but if he didn't have anything to show for all the time they'd spent together it might've made him feel like it was a waste of time. 

"Here," he said, pulling the cloth away gently. 

Akira tilted his head, studying the painting. "It's good. Thank you."

His voice was soft. Yusuke didn't understand the emotion, but he didn't understand many things with Akira. 

"I--" 

He didn't get to finish. Akira tugged at his arm and kissed his cheek; he nearly bit clean through his tongue. 

"It's creepy, it's like looking in a mirror." He was looking back at it, almost like he hadn't done anything. 

Yusuke straightened his back, feeling--

What was it? It was the awkwardness again, the guilt, and something else flushing pleasantly through his blood to warm his cheeks. 

"Do that again."

"What?" Akira stopped and, haltingly, almost like a wind-up toy, leaned forward to kiss him again. "There." He shook his head, and Yusuke felt a little proud of the redness of his ears. 

"Is there anything you, uh, want to say to me?" He wanted to be sure. Just in case. 

"Don't make me." Akira smiled and laughed. 

He understood it, anyway, so he reached for Akira's hand, and he didn't pull it away. 

It would be nice to paint the joy in Akira's eyes, next time.


End file.
